Liar
by Belen09
Summary: Malcolm Reed has been living a lie most of his life - now he has been found out - sort of . . . Very Dark, Mild T/R content.


Liar

While in the brig during an AU 'Affliction', Lieutenant Malcolm Reed has an internal 'conversation' . . .

T/R, R, AU and Dark

'So I have this internal conversation going on constantly about 'right and wrong' – motives, and seeing if I live up to some mythical level of responsibility. It's not very relaxing because I never make it.'

I don't know what I want.

Liar.

I've known since I was a small child what I wanted – but no one believed me when I was little – and getting older hasn't helped the situation any. It has just focused the pain, knowing that you are not getting what you wanted.

I learned that you don't talk to people about what you really want. So if you don't want people to look at you funny – well actually more funny – people always seem to regard me with a strange expression, 'See, here is Malcolm Reed. He likes to blow things up.' An exhibit at the Zoological Park under the 'Almost Human' category.

Now I even have the bars. Seems almost fitting.

Archer was shocked that I, as an 'honorable man' could do such a thing, could betray him, the ship, the mission. Tried to shame me by talking of my father, the Royal Navy – I swear that if he had known he would have dragged in my illustrious ancestors . . .

Snicker. Oh now, I know that wasn't proper, was it?

Does he of all people have any idea why I held on to my honor, or anything else for that matter? Why I am such an idiot for rules and regulations?

People trot out that crap to justify almost anything, including murder and mayhem. But then as a tactician I know about the breaking of those rules too. Morality is a construct that civilized cultures use to punish those they find unacceptable.

I know that I am unacceptable – always have been.

As a small child I wanted to be a bear – even growled. Bear cubs – I thought 'baby bears' – are loved by their mummy bears.

Then I wanted to be an angel. Angels are lovely, ethereal creatures, loved by God. I tried, really tried to be good and prayed, prayed so hard and often that I would change.

Change to what, you say? Like I said, I am unacceptable. Wrong. Abnormal. Think wrong thoughts. Know too much. But what good is it to know peoples' motives when you can't do a thing about it? People are stupid – including my parents.

My parents. I tried as a young child to explain what I felt, and was told that I was just a foolish child. Foolish child. I held my tongue after that – I am no fool. Afraid that they would understand what an abnormal being they engendered. That they would 'throw me away' like a piece of rubbish.

Until as a teenager, and long pass the hope that God could help, I told my parents exactly what I thought. Should have had music by Wagner. The whole situation was both tragic and trivial at the same time. Maybe some napalm wielding helicopters could have dumped their load on our little tableau as we stood at the side of the busy road, my father turning a shade of red that looked rather patriotic with his blue pants and white shirt. I was stunned by his obvious hatred and fear of what I was.

Despite this obvious problem, my dear parents were determined that I follow a 'proper course' in life – for them, control is everything . . . even after I made clear my determination not to follow their chosen path. Imagine their surprise, when during some intra-familial squabbling by my parents, one of them demanded that I call the constables, and I said, 'You're perfectly capable of calling – I'm not your lap dog.' Not really a surprise that despite promises during my childhood, monies were not spent on further education . . . No matter – to their surprise – I got a scholarship and part-time employment . . .

I hid for a while after that, only 'coming out' at Starfleet Academy in a very minor and very discreet way. I like to watch. I've always watched. Watched people's emotions – expressions – reactions. A way not to cause further pain . . .

Oh, and I am very focused. Focused. Added more knowledge to my already considerable database on what people of other people including myself. And aberrations to said conventional behavior.

Am I too clinical for you, too cynical? Section Thirty-One will do that to you. Now that was an experience – I do believe that it finally occurred to them that Reed the operative was also Reed their manipulator. I really believe that Harris used me as a last resort, because well, not only do I have my own agenda, but sometimes I really don't care.

(I 'can deliver' a good performance when I have to. Once I sat in front of a jury to tell my version of the truth – well that is what evidence from a witness is. I was carefully nervous, addressed the two people that I had understood were the most powerful of the group, and crafted my story to encourage not blatantly, the direction in which I wanted them to think.

The opposing counsel looked at me like a poisonous adder had escaped, and was currently inhabiting a human body. I knew the law, and the judge was properly on my side. My testimony limited the 'damage'; that was the best that could be hoped.

The icing on the cake, as it were, was that the old courtroom had a flaw wherein if you sat in a certain spot, you could hear the jury deliberate – must be careful – because of physics, the reverse is true, and learned how I was such a nice man. Sweet.)

I switched the focus of my studies to weapons research because destruction does have a terrible beauty, and I am such a very good dark angel. Mathematics, theories of quantum physics, and the appeal of cold metal filled my thoughts. I frighten people. I have not the patience for politics. You think that odd? Often I am bored, and I have little patience for the usual drivel.

I didn't know what to think – or feel – or react to, when I was posted to the Enterprise. Armory Chief, Tactical Officer, and Head of Security, no less. We were the best, and I enjoyed the competition, the exposure to the cream of Starfleet; of course, I had a tendency to find Archer irritating – he got a 'bye' into the captaincy as the son of the designer, of that I am certain.

It took a while but I finally begin to let him do his thing without me trying to save his arse on a regular basis. And I began to relax around the rest of the crew in time, particularly one Mr. Tucker.

Trip Tucker.

It's rather humorous actually; I'm not sure people are more afraid of touching me, or I of them. At any rate I am quite professional in my physical contact with the rest of the crew – except that Commander Tucker, chief engineer of the Enterprise, was bound and determined to become my friend. And lover. And soul mate. At least it seemed that way for the first couple of years . . .

Oh God, what can I say?

I felt so good around him. He was warm – hot, sometimes – and I would wrap my cold body around his as if proximity to his sun could shine light onto the moon of my heart. For the first time in my life I felt loved, really loved, and felt accepted for being me.

Sure we had our differences – for one, his attractiveness to alien females – but I thought that our love was strong and would endure. Let me rephrase that. I needed it to endure, because life without my love is cold. I exist in cold; I don't live.

Then the Xindi attacked Earth with a weapon, of unimaginable power – impressive in a horrible way – and I found that the crew, including my love, because obsessed with revenge. Trip wanted vengeance for his sister, and actually accused me of not caring, not wanting to avenge his sister's death. (That was unfair; I more than anyone aboard Enterprise knew our limitations – a fly against a fist.)

I would do, and I did my best to carry out the mission to find the mission to find the Xindi.

Despite the aid of Major Hayes, whom I couldn't stand for the longest time. I was convinced that he wanted to 'take over' my position, my authority, my life . . . and while I was merrily trying to pummel the man, I was actually trying to hurt myself, as evidenced by my prior 'shadow-boxing' in the mirror . . . (I grieve his death – he and his team gave their lives for the billions of planet Earth. No greater love . . .)

Despite the fury of Captain Archer, who clearly let his impotent rage overrun his rational thought, leading to decisions and situations that were morally questionable. And reckless, though ultimately successful. (The end justifies the means . . .)

And despite Commander Tucker, who clearly was determined to rub my heart with crushed glass, bedding both sub-Commander T'Pol and MACO Cole at the same time . . . (Eventually he fled the Enterprise, as his 'actions' did not force me to transfer . . . I am the master at 'accepting pain' . . .)

Most people don't understand how betrayal feels when you 'play by the rules'; I was furious – savage – both in the original sense of the words. But I did my duty, 'followed orders' – the road to Hell is replete with direction signs comprising orders. I follow orders . . .

Everything is jolly well 'back to normal', right?

And so when that bastard Harris contacted me, and gave me orders – Section Thirty-One still 'owned me' – I follow orders . . . (My father was right – I am a fool.)

So for Captain Jonathan Archer to lecture me about honor – the irony is delicious, and at the moment I am feasting on the contradiction.

And they needn't keep a close watch on me. I wouldn't do anything untoward.

Liar.


End file.
